Chapter Two: Lost

Vixon walked aimlessly throughout the city. Lilycove is especially beautiful during the autumn when the flora phase into brilliant hues of yellow and orange. Vixon tended to spend most of his time admiring the town that he lived in. A few passersby would hold out crumpled up Poké for him to take, but he refused every time. He assumed that he had enough money left over from his fights. Many days were spent trying to avoid people like these. Some were successful trainers, others were businessmen and women on their way to work, others were simple fathers and mothers taking a stroll in the calm autumn breeze. But Vixon never liked to make conversation, or want to be noticed at all. Vixon was never much of a sociable person. He often felt like there wasn't much to say when conversing with other people. He found that the brain can strike up a conversation with itself, reasoning situations out and synthesizing ideas on its own.

One late afternoon, as the sun was setting and the breeze billowed, Vixon scouted the outskirts of town to find a place to sleep. Once he found a flat spot under a tree, he threw his duffel bag to the ground a collapsed onto it. His head was throbbing with a headache and his bones screamed at him to stop moving. With minimal effort, he situated himself to where his bag acted as a pillow. With a long sigh, he stared up at the stars which occasionally peaked out through the tree branches. It had been weeks since he had been kicked out of his home by his older sister, and since then his mind replayed various PokéFights that he had experienced in the past. The compilation of whirring memories within his mind appeared to him like a highlight reel. In the past, Vixon had viewed these memories to reminisce about his accomplishments. As he laid alone and under a tree, however, he didn't know what to think. He sighed again, raising his working arm so his hand could rub his eyes. He was exhausted, spent from the days and days of mindlessly roaming his hometown. He didn't know where to go. He didn't even know where he could go. Being underneath that tree seemed to be sufficient enough.

As he began to drift off to sleep, a dark-feathered Pokémon caught sight of him while roosting in a nearby tree. The bird flew down to land by Vixon but kept its distance. It slowly approached Vixon with an inquisitive expression. Vixon heard the rustling of the nearby grass, which caused him to jolt up from his bed. The Pokémon jumped, obviously startled, but was just too curious of the human to fly away. Vixon's eyes darted around until he found the particularly large Murkrow standing a few feet away from him. It immediately reminded him of one of his Pokémon. It was a Murkrow with a scar above its eye and a missing toe. The longer he looked at the wary bird, the more his eyes widened.

Vixon, with a rather shaky voice, said, "Murkrow, is that you?"

The Murkrow's body immediately tensed up. It realized that this human was indeed its owner. It hated Pokémon fights and hated its trainer more. The rigorous training and fights that Vixon forced the Murkrow into was torture.

"Vixon, you are no longer my master. I don't even think that you realize that what you were doing was wrong."

Vixon stared at the bird, unfazed, and said, "I'm sorry."

The Murkrow stepped back and raised its wings. "No, you're not."

Vixon lowered his head as the Murkrow began to flap its wings. "Please don't leave, Murkrow."

As the Murkrow flew away into the wilderness of Route 121, it said, "Rot in hell, fucker." Vixon never recalled when or even if he fell asleep that night.

Sometime later, a bit after his shoulder healed, Vixon's money reserves depleted, leaving him with an empty shoebox, and no new shoes to show for it. The ones he had on were forming holes in the front. His normally clean face was grimy as he sported a wild beard. His brown hair became rather greasy and shown with brilliance in the summer sun. His clothes were discolored and smelly, even to Vixon, who had almost grown used to the odor of old stockpiled sweat. He shuffled his feet as he entered an alleyway behind a library. With nowhere else to go, he leaned on the wall and slowly slid down to the ground. He lugged off his duffel bag and placed his head onto his knees as he folded into a fetal position. He knew that he was happier when he was a fighter than when he was a runner. That's all Vixon believed he was doing: running from the world.

As his mind wandered, with nowhere to go but to bounce around within his own brain, another figure turned the corner into the alleyway. Vixon turned and saw a disheveled woman walking slowly towards him. She had black, matted hair and a tattered sweatshirt on that said, 'rainbows.' The rainbow on her sweatshirt was sun-bleached almost completely white, nullifying its vivacity. Vixon softly chuckled to himself as he continued to think. 'All good things must fade eventually.' As he compulsively repeated those words within his mind, the woman found a spot beside him on the ground. They stared at each other in complete silence. They didn't need to speak; they were both reading into each other's struggles.

"You don't look like a bad dude," said the woman out of nowhere.

Vixon jumped a bit in response to her surprisingly loud voice and replied with, "I wish that were true."

"What did you do?" She eagerly asked him.

He sighed as he stared down at a beetle scuttling by his feet. "I guess I cheated."

She raised one eyebrow in confusion as she leaned ever so slightly closer to Vixon. She said, "What did you cheat at?"

Vixon looked up into the eyes of this stranger, his gaze dancing between her eyes as if searching for the answer. "I don't know."

"What does that mean?"

Vixon looked back down at the ground and never answered. Instead, he asked, "What's your name?"

She gave a wide smile and said, "My name is Vanessa, but the homeless folks call me Megaphone."

Vixon chuckled and replied with, "My name is Vixon. It's great to meet you." He held out his hand and she immediately shook it. Vixon noticed that her hands were far cleaner than his own. He stared down at his hand and then back to Vanessa's, which she was wiping on her bleached shirt.

"It seems as though you're new to this whole 'homeless' business, huh?" she said with a dry laugh.

"I guess you could say that."

"Well, I guess I do have a slight advantage." She said as she reached for her waistband.

Vixon's mind flashed back to Thomas pulling his gun out and with one, swift motion, Vixon pulled his gun out from his bag and stuck it to Vanessa's head. She inhaled sharply, like a desperate gasp for depleting air, and sat completely still.

"Don't reach," Vixon firmly said.

Vanessa began shaking in fright as she said, "Oh my God, please don't shoot me! I was reaching for a Poké Ball."

Vixon's vision became blurry. He lowered his gun and Vanessa slowly exhaled and shut her eyes, feeling a flood of relief.

Vixon looked down at the pistol in his hands and began to weep silently to himself. He softly said, "I'm sorry, Vanessa." Before she could respond, Vixon was up off the ground and around the corner.

Vanessa sat there in utter shock as she rested her head on the outer wall of the library, huffing and puffing, trying to regain her breathing.

For Vixon, the library became a common place for him to hang out. Of course, not inside the building, but the alleyway behind it. Occasionally, library volunteers would leave piles of books, most of which were too destroyed to use, for garbage collection. Vixon would funnel through those books to see if he wanted to read any. Reading is what he devoted most of his time to. It became a sort of compulsion to read. He soon came to discover that he was reading far too fast for the supply of good books to keep up with, so he resorted to a fallback book: one that he didn't particularly want to read, but it was big enough to allow for more books to stockpile. It was a thick, leather-bound journal of psychology.

As he got further into the book, he began to lose interest in the other ones. Page after page, he became more enamored by it, occasionally forgetting to eat or sleep. It took him a week of non-stop reading to finish the journal, but he didn't feel that it was enough. He flipped the pages from 2,385 to 1 and started over. Again and again, this went on, as autumn turned to winter.

Being a port city, the winters in Lilycove were harsh. In the early weeks, Vixon paid the cold no mind as he absorbed the words into his brain. As it neared January, however, Vixon began to feel the physical toll that winter had to offer. With no food and no motivation, Vixon spent his time huddled between a garbage can and the concrete steps leading into the library. He doesn't remember much during those weeks. The only thing he remembers is that he left off on page 486.

One early morning was especially cold, reaching temperatures far below freezing. Vixon shivered in his spot as he curled up, clutching at his light jacket for some sense of warmth. He was starving at this point, having not eaten in five days. He focused on his breathing, as this was what he spent a lot of his time doing anyway. He watched beyond the garbage can as thick slurries of snow stacked up on the streets. His teeth began chattering, being almost louder than the howl of the winter wind. As he reached for the book in his bag, he felt as if his life was drifting out to sea. His body became numb and frostbitten. His breathing slowed as he closed his eyes, accepting the fact that he would die.

Strolling nonchalantly down that very street, however, was a woman with a rainbow on her sweatshirt and three Poké Balls strapped to her waist.

The garbage can was alight with a violent crackle here and there. Vixon's eyes fluttered open and they immediately fell upon a Torchic sitting beside him with its head cocked to the side. The curious little chicken stared at Vixon as if it were waiting for him to do something. He squinted, trying to make sense of how he was not dead. From behind the burning trash can, Vanessa smiled at Vixon. His eyes shot wide open with shock.

"Vanessa?! How did you save me?"

She shrugged her shoulders, "I dunno, Chip lit the trash can up and now we're warm. The power of fire!" She threw her arms in the air aggressively to display such power. This elicited a slight chuckle under Vixon's breath: it was the first time he had laughed in a long time.

"Well, thanks," Vixon said.

"Yeah, no problem," she chuckled, "It seems like you're gonna need my help out here."

"I uh…" Vixon paused. He was mostly a quiet, keep-to-himself kind of guy, but he knew that being homeless gave no awards for being alone as well. "I guess so, huh?" He said with little emotion.

"After you thaw out, we need to get you loosened up a little bit."

They sat the rest of the early morning in silence as Chip, the fun-loving Torchic, skipped around the blazing garbage can.

Although Vixon couldn't remember why a number kept jumping around in his mind: 486.

Author's Note:

For this story, I have decided that I will use some author's notes but I will try to keep them brief. I mainly just want to know what you guys think about this new story. I am usually not one to ask like this, but please do leave me some comments. I want to hear what you all have to say!

Thank you for reading!

~TheAuraManipulator